


Unimaginable Things

by sergeant_angel



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: F/F, I don't even know what this, blame florence welch, epic love story written in an un-epic fashion, florence needs to stop making me feel things, valkyrie!kate bishop, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel
Summary: Brunnhilde has spent thousands of years thinking she was the only surviving Valkyrie.Kate has spent a thousand years thinking the same thing.





	Unimaginable Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarthAbby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAbby/gifts).



> so I sent DarthAbby a message saying "Sky full of song by Florence and the machine is such a thorkate song" and she said "yes but also Valkyrie!kate in love with brunnhilde?" and I couldn't stop thinking about it and being mildly sad about it so....ta-dah?  
> full disclosure m brain is really fried, I wrote this in really quickly and I cannot remember the sequence of events for the final fight on asgard, and it's also not really important to the plot of this story mostly because there isn't a plot!! it's just Feelings.

She still has the scar.

Two scars, actually, one on her stomach and the other on her back, both roughly the size of her fist, halfway between hip and bellybutton.

The scars and the tattoo are the only physical reminders she has of being a Valkyrie.

…

It was a long time ago.

Before the Asgardian princelings, before their expulsions and the Midgardian scientist and the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge--

Being a Valkyrie was a long time ago, and now they’re a legend, a story told to children before bed.

She’s the last of her kind.

Kate remembers the last day, the day her sisters died.

She remembers Hela.

She remembers her mount dying beneath her, that brave, beautiful horse who’s wings had protected her on countless battles on dozens of new worlds; she recalls reaching for another arrow and and grasping at nothing, her quiver empty.

She remembers reaching, reaching for the most important of the Valkyries. The most important Valkyrie to her.

To protect her, maybe, or perhaps just to be near, because this—this was the end.

And then the blade, through her back and out her stomach.

Reaching for Brunnhilde.

And waking, in agonizing pain, to find her gone, awaking in a sea of her dead sisters, alone.

She’s been alone, more or less, ever since.

….

There was that time with Loki.

Kate remembers the princelings back when they were young enough to be called such—and oh, she’s so very _old_ now—and being assigned to little Loki.

They’d tooled around space for a bit when he was old enough, found some other princes and godlings to run around with--

It had been nice. To pretend to be human, to forget for a while all she’s seen.

But it had hurt, too. America, covered in stars, had _hurt_.

Loki had done well, she’d thought, but then he’d confided in her about his friend Leah and that had been...well. Worrying. To say the least.

But she’d liked it, being part of a team. In a thousand years, it was the first time she’d realized how much she missed that.

And then Loki had decided to playact as Odin, and that’s when Kate was banished, out here with Heimdall, wondering how she got here.

She was once a revered hero, an honored warrior.

Now she hasn’t had a proper bath in months.

There’s a Midgardian saying she can’t quite remember about how the mighty have fallen.

...

Being banished, it turns out, is a gift, because it means she’s not there when Hela returns.

Which means that she didn’t die trying to avenge her fallen love.

It means that she’s stuck here with Heimdall, protecting Asgardians from that murderous hag.

They’re all so _young_.

Being outside of the city, roughing it, reminds her of days gone by, of sleeping under the stars of a different world. Looking up and wondering if Brunnhilde was looking at the same stars, or different ones, and if she was thinking of Kate.

 _Of course not_ , Brunnhilde had blustered.

But then--

There was a necklace, a pendant that looked like a star, but snapped clean in two.

 _Here,_ Brunnhilde had said. _Now we can always both be looking at the same star._

She doesn't have the necklace any more. She lost it the same day she lost Brunnhilde.

Sometimes, when she is very tired or very lonely or very sad, she hopes that Brunnhilde is alive somewhere, with their star next to her heart, looking at it and thinking of Kate.

It’s a silly little dream, and Kate knows it.

…

She has a bow slung across her back and a sword in her hand. This is a battle like she hasn’t seen in well over a thousand years, and though she wishes it were under different circumstances, there is something very satisfying about sending an arrow through the eyes of Hela’s undead army.

Kate is probably going to die, but she’s going to take Hela with her.

This time, it will be permanent.

…

Thor and Loki are alive, Heimdall informs her.

They are coming.

And they are bringing a Valkyrie.

“That’s impossible,” Kate says.

“And yet.”

…

It isn’t even worth hoping, it’s not worth daring to think about and Kate hates herself for the little spark.

She will not be disappointed, she tells herself. In no uncertain terms. She is _happy_ to have one of her sisters back, _any_ of her fellow Valkyries.

Together, they will avenge their fallen dead.

Even, she tells herself, if it’s Skaldi.

She’ll be happy, whoever it is.

She _will_.

……

“What do you mean, he’s with a Valkyrie?” Brunnhilde keeps her voice flat to stop her anger from leaking through. “I’m the only one left. They’re all dead. I saw them die.”

“Well, she had the tattoo,” Thor insists. “I saw it. Heimdall saw it. I saw it with Heimdall’s eyes, she was there! I know it.”

“Right,” Loki says from where he’s still tied up. “She used to look out for me. She was my bodyguard.”

Brunnhilde can’t keep the look of disgust off of her face. “Valkyries aren’t _bodyguards_ ,” she snaps.

“Well, the rest of them were dead, so what was she supposed to do? Piss off to a trash heap and get drunk, I suppose?”

Brunnhilde lunges, but Thor manages to catch her at the last second.

“This will be a fun trip,” Bruce mutters.

…

“I found this in the armory,” Thor says, thrusting a bundle of fabric at her. “Two, actually. For the other Valkyrie, when we find her with Heimdall.”

Thor has been irritating about the whole thing. He’s so certain there’s another one alive.

There _can’t_. There just _can’t_. Brunnhilde has spent so long coming to terms with that fact. She saw them, dead around her.

She cried over them.

Over _her_.

Brunnhilde fiddles with the chain around her neck, an old habit, making sure it’s still there, the star next to her heart. She should be over it by now, she should move on, but she can’t.

Brunnhilde can still taste her, can feel Kate smiling against her lips, can hear her panting as they spar, feel the weight of Kate as she pins her down. Brunnhilde can still remember what it was like to have that unwavering confidence directed at her. Because Kate had believed—she’d trusted—she’d had faith--in Brunnhilde. As a commander, a lover, a friend.

Kate was dead because of it.

The thought of a Valkyrie being alive—it would mean that Brunnhilde had failed. That she didn’t check closely enough or wait long enough--

It would mean that she should have been able to save Kate.

It makes her want to scream.

No, the thought makes her want to cry.

She doesn’t cry anymore. She cried enough back then to last the rest of her life.

It doesn't matter, it doesn’t. They’re not going to make it out of this battle alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take that murderous hag down with her.

…

Brunnhilde keeps reliving that day. It’s Loki’s fault for bringing it all back to the surface.

She’s spent years—centuries, really—trying to shove those memories as deep as they’ll go, and with a single touch he mucks up all that hard work. Years of drinking and fighting and burying herself on Sakaar all for _nothing_. All so that she can remember those bright, horrible flashes of memory. Not being able to reach far enough fast enough.

Of Kate, stupid, brave Kate, throwing herself in between Hela and Brunnhilde herself. The bow shattered underneath her body, impaled by Hela’s blade, blood soaking her pale blue cape.

How very, very still Kate was. She was never still, couldn’t ever manage it unless she was stuck in a tree to shoot something.

Kate’s half of the star shimmering a few feet from her body—it had shattered Brunnhilde. That stupid little gift, torn so violently from the broken body of her lover, had broken Brunnhilde.

So she’d run.

...

Loki keeps giving her strange looks. She’s surprised he’s here, but she’s glad—he’s a good fighter, even if he’s an ass.

The looks, though.

He takes the bundle of armor Thor brought out, tosses it at her. “Just so you know, I’m to thank for that. She’s still alive because of me. If I hadn’t banished her...” he trails off, aware that she’s not really paying attention. “I expect your full fealty,” he finishes.

Brunnhilde snorts, but this time she takes the bundle of armor, the blade it’s wrapped around.

Maybe she’s not alone.

Maybe--

Maybe that’s all she’ll hope for. Maybe she shouldn’t hope for things that aren’t possible.

……

The woman next to Thor—the one in Valkyrie armor—looks familiar.

Of course she does, Kate chides herself. One does not fight alongside the same women for centuries without them becoming familiar.

Kate does not allow herself to think too much about the dark, curly hair, or the way the Valkyrie is walking--because it’s _not_. It’s not her, that’s just a general sort of swagger. So many Valkyries had that nonchalance as they walked away from an exploding ship, that’s just—it’s just--

It’s a lie, and Kate knows it, the hope is bubbling through her and she’s powerless to tamp it down. It’s too unbelievable to be real, this _can’t_ be happening, maybe Hela killed her after all and this is it, this is the afterlife--

Her body doesn’t seem to be working properly. She is feeling too much and nothing at all and can’t figure out if she should run or freeze because it’s _her_ it’s _Brunnhilde_ , she’s _alive._

Brunnhilde starts running, and Kate does, too.

…...

She has dark hair. That’s the first thing Brunnhilde notices about the woman next to Heimdall, the one who is supposedly a Valkyrie. She’s not blonde, and so many of them were.

This one little detail has her heart skipping a beat.

She’s taking everything in, this mystery woman, small tilts of her head as she constantly checks her surroundings.

She has a bow slung across her back.

Brunnhilde’s grip tightens on the bundle of armor and sword in her hand. She can’t breathe properly, like hope is going to suffocate her. If it’s not her, Brunnhilde doesn’t know how she can keep going on, not after tasting this lightness. To come this close to such an impossible desire, believing in it, only to have it torn from her grasp--

“Remember,” Loki says. “This is all me.”

He doesn't matter.

They’re closer now and dark hair, blue eyes, that crooked nose, it’s _her_ , Kate is alive.

Brunnhilde doesn’t decide to start running but she’s running anyway, pelting towards Kate, as fast as she can and it still takes too long. Too many seconds before they’re slamming into one another, pulling one another close.

They’re a tangle of limbs that tumbles to the ground, half-finished sentences that are unimportant as Brunnhilde pulls Kate to her, rocking them back and forth and she realizes--

She’s crying.

For the first time in centuries, she’s crying.

She doesn’t know if she’s ever been this happy.

…...

Kate winds up with a mouthful of Brunnhilde’s hair and it’s wonderful, she doesn't even care.

Brunnhilde is saying something—she seems to be apologizing a lot, saying she never should have left, and Kate is trying to tell Brunnhilde how little Odin cared for the idea of _one_ Valkyrie remaining in Asgard, much less two, but it doesn’t matter because you’re here now, we’re here, I should have looked for you, I should have _known_ \--

Brunnhilde tugs something at her neck, drawing out a familiar, if worn, star, snapping it in two and clasping half around Kate’s neck again, where it’s supposed to be.

Kate thinks she’s breaking apart but Brunnhilde just squeezes her tighter, keeping her together.

Their lips find one another, eventually.

The kiss is salty and messy— _they_ are a mess. For the first time in a very, very long time, they are not the last Valkyrie—they’re just Kate and Brunnhilde, and for the first time in a very long time, they are home.


End file.
